


The Best Little Whorehouse in Albion

by longleggedgit



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's birthday present to Merlin is not exactly what Merlin's been wanting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Little Whorehouse in Albion

**Author's Note:**

> Great big thanks to [](http://lizardspots.livejournal.com/profile)[**lizardspots**](http://lizardspots.livejournal.com/) for doing TONS of history-picking for this piece. (Who knew there was so much to know about Arthurian era brothels!) This is by no means _perfectly_ accurate, but it's a lot closer than it was initially. :) Thank you also to [](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[**reallycorking**](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/) and [](http://cmere.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cmere.livejournal.com/)**cmere** for betaing for me! ♥

"You're late," Arthur says the moment Merlin stumbles into his chambers, and he waits just long enough for Merlin to mutter some sort of excuse under his breath before adding, "Happy birthday."

Merlin looks completely taken aback. "Thank you," he says.

"Come on."

The soft, almost grateful expression on Merlin's face immediately fades. "Arthur," he says. "I told you, I don't want—"

"Merlin." Arthur gives him an impatient look, and Merlin appears to swallow his tongue. "Honestly, I don't know what you're so worried about. It'll be _fine._ "

Merlin doesn't voice another protest, just nods weakly and moves forward to help Arthur shrug his oldest riding jacket on. It's already dark outside—Arthur gave Merlin the day off, with express orders that he show up at Arthur's chambers promptly after sundown—and as they make their way down the stairs, a faint twinge in Arthur's chest makes him wish he could take his own words to heart. It's not that he's _nervous_ , certainly, but there's something about the heavy drag to Merlin's steps, the bags under his eyes indicating a complete lack of sleep the night before, that makes Arthur frown against a wave of guilt.

"Relax." Arthur puts a reassuring hand on the back of Merlin's neck and Merlin looks up at him pitifully, with enough pleading in his eyes that Arthur very nearly says _To hell with it_ and leads them right back to his chambers. Instead, he clears his throat and keeps walking toward the stables, leaving his hand where it is on Merlin's neck as they go. The contact seems to embolden Merlin somewhat, and he straightens up under Arthur's touch, matching him stride for stride for the duration of their silent walk.

It's not until they've snuck the horses quietly out of their stables and mounted them under the cover of the forest that Merlin's nervousness starts to cloud his features again. Arthur watches him for some time as they ride east, reluctant to strike up conversation when the only other person present seems on the verge of turning his horse around and bolting in the opposite direction. After what feels to Arthur like an eternity of silence, he spots their destination on the horizon and gestures toward the small town he knows Merlin has never seen before. He and his knights have been visitors to the inn – and clientele of its wares – on more than one occasion, Arthur always taking care to pretend he's no more a prince than Sir Galahad is.

"Almost there," Arthur says. "It'll be—" he stops mid-sentence, not sure what Merlin would most like to hear right now. "It won't even take long," he concludes at last.

Merlin fixes him with a withering glare. "Oh, thanks," he says. "Great. You realize this is really, truly the most terrible idea you've ever come up with, in a long history of terrible—"

"Let's pick up the pace, shall we?" Arthur spurs his horse into a gallop and Merlin has no choice but to do the same, riding on Arthur's heels until they reach the inn stables.

Once they've dismounted and given the stable boy orders as to attending their horses, Arthur drops his hand to the small of Merlin's back and coaxes him toward the inn's front door. He can feel the tautness of Merlin's muscles, the way he seems desperate to twist out of his skin and flee for dear life.

"Do I look ordinary enough?" Arthur whispers, mostly in an attempt to distract Merlin from any possible escape plans.

Merlin glances him over with poorly-concealed contempt and shrugs. "If by 'ordinary' you mean 'like a slightly less well-off prat than the Prince of Camelot,' then yes, I suppose you're fine."

Arthur scowls. "You're really making this unnecessarily difficult," he says. Merlin appears on the verge of retorting with something probably utterly inappropriate, but Arthur chooses that exact moment to swing the door open.

"Mistress Helena!" he exclaims, sweeping his eyes over the noisy and bustling first-floor pub and waiting for Merlin to enter before him. Merlin stubbornly refuses to step through the doorway, but Arthur gives him a shove and he stumbles inside, very nearly lodging himself face-first into Mistress Helena's ample and scantily-clad bosom as she hurries to greet them.

"Sir Palamon!" Helena says fondly, once Merlin has straightened up and the tips of his ears have gone redder than the flowers on her robe. He doesn't let the embarrassment prevent him from lifting a skeptical eyebrow in Arthur's direction. "What a pleasant surprise! To what do we owe the honor of your visit?"

"I should think that would be rather obvious," Merlin mutters.

Arthur kicks him in the shins before answering, "It's my manservant's birthday."

"Oh, indeed?" Helena seems to regard Merlin seriously for the first time, looking him over as if he were a particularly fine horse, and Merlin's blush deepens. "I've got just the thing." Turning back to Arthur, she says, "Two, then?"

"Please." Arthur gives her a winning smile and Helena departs up a side staircase just as Merlin grabs him by the front of his doublet and pulls him in so they're face-to-face.

"Two?" Merlin repeats. "Why _two_ , Arthur?"

"Let go of me." Arthur twists Merlin's fingers out of his doublet and smoothes it out, glancing around the lively pub to make sure no one's noticed them. Luckily, it's too loud for anyone nearby to be able to hear much of anything. "One for me, of course. Honestly, Merlin, I'm not going to have you killed your first time."

When Arthur looks up from the wrinkles in his garments, Merlin is not only flushed but positively _gaping_ , in a way that makes Arthur start to feel a little flushed himself. " _What?_ " Arthur demands.

"You're going to—with me—at the same time?" Merlin can't seem to stammer out anything further than that.

Arthur shrugs, annoyed at how horrified Merlin seems by all this. You'd think even a village as small as Ealdor would've had at least one prostitute with whom Merlin could have educated himself a bit. "Why not?" he says. Merlin makes a strangled noise and Arthur snaps, "Oh, grow up, will you? If you were a knight you'd do this sort of thing all the time."

"You can't be serious." Merlin lifts both eyebrows now. "You're telling me the royal knights of Camelot regularly get prostitutes together and," —he pauses to swallow here— "and _enjoy_ them at the same time?"

"Well when you put it that way, of course it sounds ludicrous," Arthur says, feeling progressively less and less charitable toward Merlin with every passing second. "It's just a—a stress-relieving thing, something to do after a long campaign, or a particularly rough day of training."

"Sex," Merlin says, stone-faced. "Group sex is something to do with your fellow knights after a long day of training."

"It's not _group sex_ ," Arthur growls.

"Forgive me, _Sir Palamon_ , but I fail to see the difference."

Before Arthur can detail exactly _why_ what they do is nothing at all like group sex, Mistress Helena emerges once again.

"If you'll follow me, gentlemen," she says sweetly, and that smug look Merlin always gets when he thinks he's actually managed to stump Arthur disappears in a heartbeat and is replaced at once with anxiety.

Arthur nods him forward, refraining from making a snide comment about Merlin's obvious terror even though the kindness is more than he deserves. He slips a handful of coins into Helena's open palm and she gives him a strange look – likely wondering why Sir Palamon is handling the money while his manservant does nothing but stand beside him and look vaguely ill – but she says nothing, leading them up to the third floor and into a hallway Arthur is more than familiar with.

Merlin, Arthur notices, walks with his fists clenched at his sides and his head down, refusing to even glance at any of the doors they pass. Arthur can't exactly blame him; judging by the sounds coming from behind them, most of the doors are concealing some rather illicit activities, which could be overwhelming even to a seasoned client. When they finally reach the last room in the hall and Helena gestures them in, Arthur's brow is fixed in a tight furrow, and he wants nothing more than to rest his hand on Merlin's back again and tell him it will all be okay.

In a moment, however, Mistress Helena is gone, and the time for reassurances is past. The door pulls shut behind them, and Lauralie—a pretty, well-endowed blond girl Arthur has had and quite enjoyed before—is taking Merlin by the hand and leading him to the pallet in the right corner of the room. Merlin casts one terrified glance over his shoulder at Arthur before Lauralie takes his chin in her hand and tilts his face back toward her. Arthur struggles against something vaguely like protectiveness before allowing himself to be led to a pallet in the opposite corner.

"I'm Elaina," the woman coaxing him to the pallet says, and as he drops to a seated position Arthur tears his eyes away from Merlin and Lauralie to take a good look at her for the first time. She's not a woman he's ever seen here before, and not exactly the type he usually goes for – her hair is dark and unruly, she has skinny legs and a small chest, and her mouth has an odd tilt to it that gives her an awkward smile. Still, he can't deny there's something strangely appealing about her.

"Nice to meet you," Arthur says, just before Elaina pushes him against the wall and kisses him, hard. Arthur makes a muffled groan into her mouth and allows her to begin undressing him, but his mind isn't really on the task at hand. As soon as Elaina has his doublet and undershirt off and starts sucking on his neck, he chances a look back toward Merlin.

Arthur's breath catches in his throat when he finds Merlin's eyes already fixed in his direction. Lauralie has long since rid Merlin of his shirt and is on her knees in front of the pallet, working on his breeches. Merlin's head is tilted against the wall, his chest heaving with labored breaths, but his eyes remain unwavering on Arthur's face—even when Lauralie finally gets his breeches undone and tugs them all the way down and Merlin's cock starts to stiffen right then and there.

It's lucky that Elaina decides to slip her hand inside Arthur's breeches and start stroking him at that precise moment, because otherwise he doesn't think he could justify the ragged gasp that drags itself from his throat. Snapping his eyes shut, Arthur turns his head away and tries to ignore what's going on at the other end of the room, lifting his hips to help Elaina slide his breeches down. When he dares to open his eyes again, Elaina is sliding down his body, mouthing a trail along his stomach toward his cock, and of course she's incredibly talented and this is incredibly hot, but for some reason the first thought that springs to mind is that with her head down and her hair tied back like that, she _almost_ looks like Merlin.

"Oh, God," Arthur groans, closing his eyes again, but the mental image won't leave him, even when Elaina wraps her lips around the head of Arthur's cock and takes him in almost to the base. He hears Merlin make a desperate, needy noise almost immediately following his own groan, and as soon as he's checked to make sure Elaina is properly distracted, Arthur sneaks a look sideways again.

Lauralie is straddling Merlin's lap, lowering herself onto his cock and making those breathy little moans she's so good at, and yet Merlin is _still_ intent on Arthur, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, tightening his hands on Lauralie's hips and muttering a quiet " _Oh God, Jesus_ " but never even sparing a glance for the woman he's currently fucking.

It does something to Arthur, that intensity on Merlin's face, and he feels his entire body get charged with it. He can't help but gasp again and thrust forward into Elaina's mouth, although it's not Elaina's mouth he's thinking about. It's not Elaina's hair he's thinking about, either, when he tangles his hands in it, nor Elaina's hands, when they find purchase on Arthur's thighs.

"Arthur . . ." Merlin says, hesitantly and quietly, as if asking permission for something. The sound of his name coming from Merlin's mouth like _this_ , when Merlin is breathless and panting and in the process of getting off, makes Arthur whimper.

"Don't," he says, trusting that Elaina will understand it's not her he's talking to, and, like a true professional, she seems to understand and doesn't slow down in the slightest.

Merlin makes a choked sound, and as much as Arthur wants to say more, as much as he wants to _do_ more, he has to satisfy himself with meeting Merlin's eyes again, trying to communicate something along the lines of _Not here_ even as he can see Merlin nearing climax.

" _God_ , Arthur," Merlin moans, predictably ignoring Arthur's urgings for discretion, and then Merlin is clutching at Lauralie's shoulder blades and gasping into the crook of her neck and closing his eyes for perhaps the first time since this whole fiasco started, and Arthur tries desperately to convince himself that's _not_ jealousy gnawing at his insides when Lauralie strokes Merlin's hair and murmurs calming words into his ear as he rides his orgasm out.

Arthur follows shortly thereafter, cursing and digging his nails into the bedspread and wishing he could fully appreciate how expertly Elaina is swallowing him down when all he can concentrate on is getting out of here as quickly as possible and dragging Merlin along with him.

Lauralie and Elaina get the message clearly enough, judging by how quickly they clean themselves up and make for the doorway.

"Thank you," Arthur says to their retreating backs, and Merlin follows his example, shyly, while Arthur adamantly does not watch him tucking himself back into his breeches.

"Thank _you_ ," Elaina says with a smile, and she and Lauralie exchange knowing glances before slipping out.

Arthur's head is buzzing as he dresses and stands up, struggling to formulate something to say that will make this all okay again, but just as he thinks he's gotten a hold of himself he makes the mistake of turning around to face Merlin. Merlin, whose chest is still bare and sweat-streaked, whose lips are swollen and shining wet, and who is watching Arthur with heavy-lidded eyes that manage to convey embarrassment, exhaustion, and undeniable _want_ all at once.

"Come here," Arthur says, before he can stop to think better of it, and just as quickly as the words have left his mouth Merlin is in front of him, apparently hovering between touching Arthur everywhere and holding back, his muscles absolutely shaking with the effort.

"Arthur," Merlin says, at the same moment Arthur grates out between his teeth, " _God_ ," and then Merlin's hands are in his hair and Arthur's hands are on Merlin's neck and they're stumbling back toward Arthur's pallet, kissing messily and hissing sharp words into the air between them.

"Arthur," Merlin says again, "Arthur, _Arthur._ "

"I know, just—shut up," Arthur groans. He falls back heavily on the edge of the pallet and Merlin crawls into his lap, one thigh pressing urgently against Arthur's crotch, driving him to a hard-on again in no time.

"I didn't want—" Merlin starts, then breaks off with a jagged moan as Arthur bites at his jawline, as his hands skirt across the hot skin of Merlin's back. "This is all I wanted," he says. "Just this."

"I know, I know, I'm _sorry._ " Arthur pulls back just long enough to tear his own doublet and undershirt off, and in that amount of time Merlin is already making impatient noises and pressing his hard-on insistently against Arthur's side, his urgent need almost more than Arthur can take. Arthur strips off his breeches to follow his shirt, tosses them aside, and throws Merlin down on the pallet, not pausing until he's rid him entirely of the only article of clothing he had on.

At this point, Arthur freezes, realizing with startling clarity that he is now entirely naked and Merlin is entirely naked underneath him. A steady heat rises in his face and down his neck, although he's not certain it's possible to get any more flushed than he already is.

"Arthur." Merlin brushes one hand across Arthur's cheekbone and uses the other to guide his hips lower. At first Arthur just thinks Merlin wants the friction of their cocks grinding together, but then suddenly his cock is pressing against the cleft of Merlin's arse, and Merlin arches his back and bites at Arthur's lip and whispers against his mouth, " _Please_."

This would be a truly inconvenient moment to pass out, Arthur reminds himself, so he takes a moment to suck in a deep breath and tries to get his trembling under control. "You want me to—" he says at last, not quite able to finish the sentence.

" _Yes_ ," Merlin says, with a note to his voice that comes off as more impatient than desperate.

"No need to get testy," Arthur grumbles, stalling for time while he tries to figure out what exactly he's supposed to do. But of course, since this is Merlin we're talking about, he isn't fooled for a second.

"Honestly." Merlin shoulders Arthur off of him and rolls over to the edge of the pallet, fumbling around in the small bag they packed for the journey until he finds what he's looking for and rolls back.

"Where did that come from?" Arthur asks, regarding the glass vial of something slick and oily that Merlin hands him with wonder.

"It's what I use when you need a massage," Merlin says. "You don't even bother paying attention to half the things you own, do you?"

That's certainly enough talking for now, Arthur reasons, so instead of deigning to answer he presses a hand flat on Merlin's chest to ease him back down to the bedspread and situates himself between Merlin's legs. This shuts Merlin up fast, thank God, and when Arthur uncaps the vial and pours out enough of the oily stuff to coat two of his fingers, dragging his hand down the inside of Merlin's thigh, Merlin is already back to whimpering pathetically and arching forward like he belongs in a brothel himself.

"You're sure—" Arthur starts, only half-serious, and Merlin immediately interrupts him with an emphatic, " _Yes._ "

It's all the incentive Arthur needs. He trails one finger around the entrance to Merlin's hole and slowly presses inside, nearly growing dizzy when Merlin hisses and wraps his legs around Arthur's waist. Arthur takes hold of one of Merlin's thighs with his free hand and presses the second finger in with the other, and Merlin's ensuing moan is shuddering and low.

"God, yes," Merlin gasps, so enthusiastically that Arthur has to reward him with soft kisses to his collarbone and shoulder. He thrusts his fingers in and out a few times, just to get Merlin used to the feel of it and to get used to the feel of things himself, but it's getting harder and harder to hold back, and when Merlin starts to beg for it in feverish, broken sentences, Arthur doesn't have the stamina to tease him anymore.

He slips his fingers out and quickly lines up his cock to take their place, reveling in the way Merlin keeps repeating "Come on, come on, Jesus Arthur _hurry_ ," and very nearly loses his mind when he finally gets his cock slicked and starts to slide in. He stops halfway, partially because of the tightness and partially because the sensation is so intense he's worried he'll come unless he stops moving _right now._

Merlin cringes but slides his hand around the back of Arthur's neck, pulling their faces closer together. "Don't," he says breathily, "stop."

Arthur curses but can only obey, pushing forward with slow but firm pressure until his hips are resting comfortably against Merlin's arse. Merlin moans, long and loud enough that Arthur briefly worries someone is going to burst in on them thinking Sir Palamon is engaged in a struggle for his life, but he forgets his concern when the moan is exchanged for a little growl of annoyance and he's forced to start thrusting before Merlin revolts.

"Oh . . . God," Arthur chokes, suddenly much more understanding of just why Merlin was so impatient. Everything up until now felt good, just like sex with people other than Merlin has always felt good, but _this_ is another sensation all together.

He finds a steady, although not necessarily gentle, pace, and slides one hand up Merlin's chest, bracing the other arm against the pallet. When his hand reaches Merlin's neck, Merlin, panting and slick with sweat and meeting Arthur's eyes as evenly as he can, dips his head and takes two of Arthur's fingers into his mouth, and Arthur has to close his eyes and bite his own lip _very_ hard to ensure he doesn't come just from the sight.

"You're hardly better than a prostitute," Arthur says, trying to draw attention away from the desperate noises he can't help but make every time Merlin's tongue flicks around his fingertips.

Merlin lets the fingers fall from his mouth as he says, "I should hope I'm a great deal better."

It's the last straw for Arthur. He groans, as much out of aggravation as arousal, and starts thrusting slower but harder, reveling in the way Merlin's breath catches and all his witticisms melt into whimpering as he tangles his fingers in Arthur's hair and begs for more, faster, _harder._ Arthur can feel himself getting close, the heat building and writhing inside of him, and just as he's beginning to wonder if the proper thing to do would be to pull out, Merlin looks directly into his eyes and says, "Come on. Come on."

Finding all the answer he needs to his unspoken question, Arthur presses one last heated kiss to Merlin's jaw and comes, riding it out until he's trembling with exertion and has to use every ounce of his resolve to keep himself from simply collapsing on top of Merlin's still desperately hard cock and falling asleep right then and there.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Merlin hisses, again seeming to read Arthur's mind. Normally, Arthur would tease things out a little while longer, but he doesn't trust himself to stay conscious for prolonged torturing just now, so instead he eases a hand between them and starts to jerk Merlin off, rough and fast, unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin's face as he squirms and moans his pleasure. It doesn't take much longer before Merlin is finally shuddering underneath him, the words "Arthur, _Arthur_ " falling softly from his lips just before he goes limp.

Arthur lets himself to succumb to his exhaustion and collapses onto Merlin's chest, drifting uncertainly in and out of consciousness for what could be a moment or could be half the night. It's only when he becomes dimly aware of Merlin's fingers stroking the hair on the back of his head – not to mention a growing ache from lying in the same rather uncomfortable position for too long – that he forces himself to open his eyes and lift himself off of Merlin's chest, pulling out carefully. Merlin makes a small, slightly pained noise and shifts so Arthur can settle in beside him, reaching up to casually brush the sweaty hair out of Arthur's eyes in a gesture so fond it makes Arthur's throat go dry.

"Are you –" Arthur begins, but before he can work out what he was trying to say Merlin's hand trails down to cup his cheekbone and he pulls him into a slow, gentle kiss.

"Thank you," Merlin says when they break apart, looking about as red in the face as Arthur must undoubtedly be.

He can't say the same thing back, so Arthur just settles for scowling and reaches down to pull the blankets up around them. "Don't be ridiculous," he mutters. Merlin laughs.

"I mean it," he says, forcing Arthur to grudgingly meet his eyes again. "It ended up being a much better birthday than I was expecting."

Arthur, flustered and maybe a little bit irrationally irritated, says as haughtily as he can manage, "Honestly. You really think – that's not the _reason_."

Merlin pauses in fluffing his pillow and lifts a perplexed eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Arthur says, snatching the pillow out of Merlin's hands, "that you're expected to be in my chambers again tomorrow night, promptly after sundown."

The confusion melts from Merlin's face and is replaced by a stupidly endearing grin. "Oh," Merlin says, not even bothering to try and get the pillow back. He rests his head against Arthur's chest instead, and Arthur has to fight not to start stroking his hair on instinct. "No more prostitutes?" Merlin asks, a little hesitant.

Arthur remembers his violent jealousy from watching Lauralie and Merlin together and sniffs. "I don't think that will be necessary."

Now Arthur can _feel_ the grin against his chest. Merlin smiles and starts pressing kisses to the exposed skin, causing Arthur to twist under the covers and try to keep his cock under control, which is already reacting again to Merlin's ministrations.

"That sounds nice," Merlin says, smugly, one of his hands skirting down Arthur's waist like he knows what's waiting for him.

"Hell," Arthur curses, giving up all illusions of propriety and tossing the covers right back off of them. "Just don't be late next time."

For perhaps the first time ever, Merlin isn't.

_end_


End file.
